


Sleep

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Gen, No Dialogue, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would it be like to fall asleep and never wake up, to find salvation, to finally have a chance to escape from this world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gamma_Orionis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamma_Orionis/gifts).



> To Gamma_Orionis - Can I just say that all your HP Requests were truly perfect?This turned out to be a lot more psychological than intended, and... Well, I really, really hope that you like it! <3 
> 
> To my wonderful Beta - thank you so, so much for being so incredibly patient with me, providing inspiration, lots of motivation and, most of all, for saving my life by beta'ing! I would have been lost without you <3.

Cassiopeia wasn’t afraid of insanity. Getting lost in her thoughts was too easy; wasn’t she left alone with them all day, incapable of escaping? She was not afraid of falling, had fallen long ago, and those whom she had trusted to catch her would only push her further into the abyss.

Who was she? She asked herself night by night, once again finding herself staring out of the opened window into the night sky, unable, unwilling, to close her eyes and give in to sleep, too afraid of where her dreams would lead her. Who was she; born in darkness, destined to never see the light? Who was she; punished for every breath she took, trapped within her own body, being denied any chance to ever break free? 

She was a puppet, merely a puppet, submissive to father and brother who’d wrap the strings closer and closer around her body, slowly watching her choke. But they couldn’t break her, she had been broken long before; they couldn’t kill her anymore. She was dead already, had never been alive. 

Slowly, Cassiopeia rose from her chair, sinking back down again only a second later. She was exhausted, hadn’t slept or eaten for days, yet refused to touch any meal offered to her. For a moment she closed her eyes, biting her lip in order to suppress a scream. Why couldn’t she forget? Why couldn’t she just forget? Why would her father still haunt her, even in death? The scars on her body would always remind her of those she feared the most, those who had called themselves her family. Still she could feel their hands pressed against her body, still she could hear her brother’s laugh resound in her ears, quiet, deep and menacing. 

She wasn’t afraid of insanity, had walked on its edge for too long already. But she was trapped, trapped in a cruel, horrible sanity that wouldn’t allow her to even lose her mind, even if she desired nothing more. Not even in madness would she be safe. She'd never find peace, would never come to rest. 

What would it be like to die? She asked herself this too, the mere thought almost causing her to laugh, a quiet, relieved laugh. What would it be like to fall asleep and never wake up, to find salvation, to finally have a chance to escape from this world? 

Again she rose, her entire body trembling beyond her control. Slowly, carefully, she took a step forward, another to her drawer, but her legs wouldn’t carry her any longer. Cassiopeia sank down to the floor, would only lie there, motionless, barely able to breathe. How weak the years had made her, how fragile! 

As if she’d not always been fragile, like a small doll, made from glass. As if she’d not always been weak. Too weak to scream, too weak to refuse, too weak to speak out the words she had desired to speak out more than anything else. 

Her tears had dried out long ago, yet she started to sob; quiet, faint sobs that nobody else but her would hear. The pain was excruciating, would tear her apart from the inside, and she was defenceless. Why wouldn’t it stop? Why wouldn’t it stop for only an hour, allowing her to rest? Why couldn’t she just—? 

Would anyone find her, if she died? Would anyone care for her, would anyone miss her? She would have almost started to laugh, coldly, tauntingly, but no sound escaped from her lips. It was foolish of her to assume such a thing, aware that she was alone, had always been alone, longing for a feeling of safety that she had never been granted. 

It was only a few steps. Slowly, she raised her head, reaching out her hand for the drawer in her bedside locker. Soon, a small, black dagger would fall down to the floor, ripping apart the fabric of her dress as it grazed her thigh. Minutes, hours, would pass and she’d only sit there, looking at it, unable to move as if she were paralyzed. Her long, black hair was sticking to her face, but she’d not bother brushing it away, wouldn’t bother keeping it in order any longer.

It was only a few steps. Dying seemed so easy, much easier than being alive; salvation seemed to be so close… 

Finally, Cassiopeia seemed to have awoken from her trance-like state, felt her fingers grip around the knife’s handle as she raised her arm— 

Again, it fell down to the floor, again she’d only sit there, looking at it until it blurred before her eyes. Weak. She was too weak, even to hold a knife; too weak to even end a life that had ended long before it had begun. 

She wasn’t even granted death; would be forced to spend her years in solitude, sentenced to be alive, sentenced to experience what had been done to her over and over again until, one day, these memories would finally take her life away. 

Cassiopeia found herself unable to deny her exhaustion; her last, desperate attempts to compose herself would fail. Sleep was about to overwhelm her, to take her into another world, a world even crueller than this.

Perhaps this time, fate would have mercy with her. Perhaps this time she’d not wake up again. Perhaps this time, death would come in sleep, bringing her relief. She was tired, incredibly tired, had no other chance than to give in to exhaustion. One last time she forced herself to remain strong, let her gaze wander around the attic, resting on the dark night sky for a moment. Finally, she closed her eyes, allowing her breath to normalise, to slowly weaken. Still, she could feel her hand almost gently resting on the dagger’s blade as if to protect it. The years would pass, and her picture slowly fade away. Soon, her name would be forgotten, yet her agony would always remain. But within seconds she had forgotten about anything, was leaving her body behind, and she smiled.


End file.
